


Ahtohallan Rising

by Fieldandfountain



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Band Fic, Childhood Friends, Drama, F/F, Family, High School AU, Lesbian Elsa (Disney), Mental Health Issues, Mix between Frozen I/II themes, Movie: Frozen 2 (2019), Perhaps the tiniest bit of real magic?, Pianist! Elsa, Romance, Spiritual bond, small town
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fieldandfountain/pseuds/Fieldandfountain
Summary: After years of struggling, Elsa is finally a star high school pianist. But she risks throwing it all way to give voice to the new song rising within her. Only Honeymaren, her friend from years ago, seems to understand.
Relationships: Agnarr - Relationship, Anna & Elsa (Disney), Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney), Honeymaren & Ryder Nattura, Iduna - Relationship
Comments: 15
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

_Time to make a run for it._ Elsa nearly bounded out of Physics class and into the open air. She couldn’t let the others see her. Luckily the door to the basement was in a grubby little nook near the long deserted cafeteria. That only meant crossing the soccer field. 

‘Elsa!’ shouted the familiar voice, usually so cheerful, but now with a note of irritation. “ _Elsa_!’

Relaxing her shoulders, Elsa paused in the center of the field and let her sister catch up to her. “I know you heard me!” Anna frowned.

Elsa flicked a leaf off of her little sister’s shoulder. It wasn’t Anna’s fault, and wasn’t fair to her. She forced a smile. “Did not.”

“Did t- ugh!” Anna brushed a copper strand from her forehead, and switched her books into the other arm. “You’re doing it again.”

Elsa repressed a sigh. She knew exactly what 'it' was, and how much it hurt her sister. “Anna, I-“

“I’m the understudy…,” Anna’s brows knit together. “The understudy for _you_. And I’d never tell anyone else this, but it’s _hard_ , Elsa. Really hard. I try not get into your business but-“

“Anna, I told you, things have been overwhelming, I just need a few days.” She didn’t like to lie to her, but in a way it was a true. Just a little time, and she would be finished, and she would go back. Back to sitting neatly at the piano, the virtuoso, with the orchestra behind her, just as she had always dreamed. But she couldn’t summon the words to tell Anna that, not with any conviction. 

“Kristoff told me, Elsa. You’ve been checking into a practice room when you’re supposed to be with _us_. And you reserved it for today. Don’t look at me like that.” Elsa knew then her eyes had gone wide, as they often did when she was caught in a lie. And she constantly had to lie to her sister. She needed her space, her secrets, while Anna always felt left out.

Elsa paused, carefully calculating her words. “And what if you weren’t the understudy? What if you were the real thing?”

Anna’s brows rose. “Seriously? You’re not planning on giving up are you? You know I don’t have time for that, with school and Kristoff and, well…” She looked at the ground and then laughed bitterly. “Why hide it? I’m not as _good_ as you. What else is new?” She turned toward the auditorium, and Elsa wondered if she was trembling. “Just be there tomorrow-ok?” And Anna marched off. 

And Elsa was relieved. She had no answer for her, not right now. It was finally her senior year, and she was exactly where she was meant to be. Where her parents had raised her to be. A highly talented classical pianist. A soloist who commanded not just the attention of the high school, but the entire town. And she didn’t hate it, not really. The years of practice had been rewarding. But now that she had come so far, now that her parents finally praised her in the way she always craved, she wanted to be, well, somewhere else. 

She slipped down the stairs quietly, Anna’s words weighing like a brick on her chest. She had never done enough for her, and it felt like she never could. Her sister was popular, had a great boyfriend, and was a talented pianist herself, but it felt like Anna wanted a piece of Elsa she was never free to give. 

A grimy set of blinds shrouded the practice room. Frowning, Elsa lifted them carefully so the electronic keyboard was bathed in cool October light. It certainly wasn’t like Bösendorfer at home or the Steinway her grandfather had gifted the school. But it felt oddly approachable, much like the toy keyboards she and Anna had played into oblivion before piano became Serious Business in their household. There was comfort in the almost tinny electronic sound, and when she really sunk into it, the electronic melodies held a kind of vintage nostalgia. 

Opening her notebook she looked over the scattering of words and notes. It was only recently she had begin to incorporate language- it wouldn’t be spoken or sung, but it helped it her write on.  
“Sleep, my darling…,”  
“where the North winds meets the sea.” 

It was nonsense, really, but the indistinct phrases held to her a world of intangible meaning, a security but also a strange, unknowable distance. And it led her to play on, and for half an hour she tried. She focused, and let out fierce staccato beats, scribbling down the notes when she felt she was onto something. And then she let herself zone out, hoping inspiration would come from who knows where, playing a light melody that she quickly realized was from an eighth grade recital. Finally she rested her hands in her lap. It always led to frustration, and this time was no different. She had not yet solved the riddle, yet it still lingered within her, taunting her. 

She rested her head in her hands and started with the sound of creaking hinges. “Oh,” said the girl, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s you.”

“Honeymaren.” She wore black jeans and grey flannel, there was a guitar slung over her shoulder, and her long dark brown hair with its short bangs was a arranged in a messy braid to her waist. There was something kind about her light brown eyes, and yet Elsa was certain she was being scrutinized. 

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, stiffening. Honeymaren had nothing to do with the orchestra, but people tended to talk about Elsa, whether she was attractive and interesting and successful or whether she was- decidedly _not_. 

Honeymaren shrugged her shoulders. “I was just practicing.” There was an easy confidence about the girl. Elsa wondered if she had always had it, and she had simply never noticed. It had been so long since they drifted apart, but it still felt awkward to be with her.

“Oh,” said Elsa cautiously. “I thought I signed up for this room. Was there a mistake?”

“Still so polite, huh? No mistake,” said Honeymaren, unfolding a chair that was leaning against the wall and sinking into it. “I was just next door, and I heard some music. Didn't expect it to be you though. Wasn't exactly your style."

"My style..." said Elsa, looking out the window.

"Nevermind that," said Honeymaren, not unkindly. "What are you playing?” 

“I-,” she paused. She snatched her notebook from the keyboard, closed it, and placed it neatly in her lap, before realizing how silly she looked. 

“Top secret, huh?” Honeymaren smiled lazily. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell on you. But I think I know that song.”

“You couldn’t,” said Elsa, irritated. Honeymaren messing with her. “I’ve just been making it up as I go along.”

“I guess not. But it feels like it. I’ve been next door the whole time, not listening in or anything.” she shrugged. “It sounds like…. _Ahtohallan_.” 

“Ahtohallan?” It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “I don’t know it…”

Honeymaren sighed, looking legitimately sad. “You wouldn’t remember, would you?”  
Sighing, she picked up her guitar, and plucked out a few notes, then a few more. The hair rose on the back of Elsa’s neck, though she couldn’t say why.

Honeymaren set her guitar in her lap and gazed steadily at Elsa, as though trying to find something within her. And for a moment, looking at her, Elsa almost felt it coming back to her.


	2. Childhood

_10 years earlier_

Elsa opened the door with the utmost care and slipped down the massive staircase. There were times when its size seemed exciting, especially when she and Anna had played together. She didn’t quite realize she lived in a mansion, but she was aware it often dwarfed her, and it was fun to play dragons or wizards together, braving the imaginary dangers of a cavernous room hand in hand. But Anna wasn’t here anymore, and now the high ceiling loomed over her and the stairs seemed daunting, as though each step would swallow her. 

She knew that scurrying over the floor boards was the best way to avoid detection. She slip up against the wall of the parlor, where the double glass doors were slightly ajar. Papa was speaking in his steady tone, that one that sometimes comforted her, and sometimes annoyed her.  
“-just a temper. It’s not that unusual in children.”  
“In _very young_ children. Your daughter is seven, and the case is- different.” The doctor sounded kind and reasonable, but she hated him anyway. He always came when there was trouble, and her mind trouble and the doctor were knitted together.  
“Then perhaps it’s a matter of discipline,” said her mother in a sweet, but strained voice. “We have her on a schedule. She’s taking up activities.”  
“Piano,” said her father, a rich pride in his voice that made Elsa’s head spin. “She has a knack for it.” He never spoke of her that way, not to her.  
“And I understand you’ve sent the younger one away?”  
There was a long pause. “Anna,” said Papa, in almost a gasp, and all the warmth the drained from her. “She’s six, and it scared her. She’s been with her aunt since Christmas.”  
Mama sighed. “Perhaps this little issue of temper-“  
“ _Temper_ is not the word I would use. It's more likely- " 

She had heard enough. Elsa rushed through the hall, past the kitchen where Miss Gerda was baking, into the garden. She walked aimlessly, her eyes brimming over. They already felt chafed and swollen from her crying spell that morning, and the salt tears stung.

Anna was gone, and it was because of her- her temper. Nothing hurt more than yelling at Anna, and yet- she did it. She didn’t know where the angry came from, and it scared her. She had tried to control it, and that meant telling Anna to go away. Anna was clumsy. Anna broke things. But Anna was her best, her only friend. 

She walked through the long fronds of a shady pine the sunny spot, the field where the the flowers were not so neat and ordered as her mother preferred but grew in seemingly wild clumps- crocuses, daffodils, and sweet scented hyacinth. It felt more like spring there, though it was still chilly. She pulled her cardigan closer, but noticing with frustration a tear at the cuff, she pulled it off and threw it on the ground. A crisp wind passed over her bare arms, and she regretted her rashness. She picked up the cardigan, dusted it off and slipped back into it, adjusting each daisy button with care.

From a short distance came laughter like tinkling bells. Elsa spun around to see a girl about her age sitting cross legged near a thick batch of crocuses. Her hair was thick and dark with a little fur cap, and in her hand she held a small bouquet. Elsa noticed her impish smile before the girl caught her staring and covered her mouth. “You looked so mad, I thought you would stamp on it!” said the girl. 

“Of course I wouldn’t.” Elsa turned and faced the pine tree behind her. Mother had told her it wasn’t polite to greet others while her face was still puffy from crying. Father said to take care of her clothes, but her pretty ribboned dress was crumpled, and there was a tear in her stockings. She felt the tears rise again, this time from embarrassment, and she sniffled.

“Why are you crying?” asked the girl, in a cheerful tone.

“I am _not_ ,” answered Elsa. “I have.…seasonal allergies.” She didn’t quite know what it meant, but Mama had taught her to say it. 

“Liar,” laughed the girl, and Elsa felt her shoulders tighten. She stared harder at the tree, pouting. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” continued the girl. “I cry all the time.”

Elsa peered carefully over her shoulder. “Really?” She asked. The sun in the girl’s face brightened her brown complexion and the dappled freckles on her nose. Her crinkled eyes were sparkling. She seemed brave, happy, strong. Somehow Elsa couldn’t imagine her crying.

The girl shrugged. “Yup. Ryder cries more though. It’s good for you,” she said matter-of-factly, and continued arranging the flowers. “At least I think so.” 

Elsa turned and faced the girl, tilting her head. Without thinking, she knelt down across from her, in front of the batch of crocuses. The field was littered with them. But her mother would be furious if she plucked even one. There was something pleasant and easy about this girl, though she seemed so _different_ in her worn out sneakers, ripped jeans, and large T-shirt was clearly a hand-me-down. Elsa didn’t want her to get in trouble. “You can’t do that.” She said.

“Who says?” The girl stuck out her tongue and Elsa frowned. She was only trying to help. “Those flowers belong to _my_ family.” She regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. But the girl simply ignored her, laying out her treasures on the ground and sorting them as she hummed.

Elsa sighed. “How did you even get in here?” There was a high gate around her family’s property. Anna said it wasn’t to keep bad guys out, but to keep the two of them in. "We're trouble together," she had said. Elsa never understood where they would go anyway, but the thought comforted her. 

“Easy. I climbed.” and Elsa’s eyes grew wide. The girl giggled. “You look funny. What is your name anyway?”

Elsa held out her hand as she was trained. “My name is Elsa Arend,” she said in her most grown up voice. “Nice to meet you.”

The girl took her hand, smiling impishly and Elsa shook it firmly. “Arend? You mean like Arendelle?”

“I think our name…comes from the town. Or the other way around.” Elsa played with a loose braid, and realized to her discomfort it was coming undone.

The girl studied her, her mouth still for once, tilting her head. “You really are just like a princess.”

Elsa dropped the braid and blushed. With her stuffed nose and rumpled clothes, she didn’t feel like one. She didn’t know if it was a compliment, but it felt…good. “Oh,” she said, tugging at her cardigan, and looking down 

“I’m Honeymaren.” It didn’t sound like any name Elsa had ever heard of, but she liked it. It reminded her of sunshine. And when Honeymaren took her hand in her two palms, in what must have been her own kind of handshake, they were just as warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully future chapters will be longer. I am busy packing and wanted to post the first part of the flashback before I head home for Christmas! I think of new ideas while I walk my dog, and it turns out, the more I think about it, these two have quite a history together! Or my dog's been getting long walks. Either is good.
> 
> Elsa's last name is Arend- because it is simple and I wanted to show her family is important in her town.
> 
> Her parents are far more inspired by Frozen I than Frozen II, as I feel too sympathetic of a portrayal undercuts her isolation growing up.


	3. The Return

It took Honeymaren two weeks to return. Elsa had strolled through the field once or twice to make sure she didn’t. Honeymaren wasn’t supposed to be there, and she had to check to warn her not to come there, not to get in trouble. It was the responsible thing. The little spot with the crocuses now seemed strangely empty. Once Elsa had walked over and touched them, and almost felt as though something would happen. Quickly looking behind her, she held her breath and plucked one of the yellow flowers. She had broken the rules, but now the flower was hers. She spun it in her hand, and held to it to sun so the petals turned translucent. She took a small book of stories out of her bag and pressed the flower in its pages. 

It was early afternoon when Elsa found Honeymaren. She was on her belly in a grove of twisted pine trees in that curled over each other, on the far end of their lands. Anna had once said the grove was haunted, and Elsa had called her silly, but still it was an odd, shadowy place, and it frightened her. There was an understanding between the sisters not to pass the barrier where the pine needles met the grass- that was where the danger lay. Elsa had always thought she had obeyed this unspoken law to keep her sister happy, but now that she was gone she still hesitated to step into the grove, and she kept her toes on the grass.

Honeymaren was scribbling in a book, and small slivers of sunshine slipped through the maze of branches on to her back. It was dark in there, and her form was shadowed, but Elsa could clearly see her lips twisted into a smile. She rolled onto her back, letting the pine needles nest into her long brown hair. Honeymaren held the book over her head and laughed.

Elsa burned with curiosity, but hesitated to say anything. She shuffled from one foot to the other.  
“I know you’re there!” called Honeymaren, rolling back onto her belly. She rested her chin on her hands.

“How long have you been here?” Elsa called, staying a safe distance away. 

“I’ve been here the whole time, silly.” Even in the darkness, her smile was bright. It wasn’t true of course, but she looked so at home, Elsa almost believed her. She wondered if it was really dangerous in there, if Honeymaren could play so freely. “I don’t think it’s safe in there!”

Honeymaren scurried to her knees and looked overhead. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked.

She didn’t want Honeymaren to think she was a baby who was afraid of ghosts. “It’s dark in there.” She realized it was unconvincing as soon as she said it.

“The dark’s not a bad place,” said Honeymaren. She pointed at the spots of sunlight on the ground. “Auntie says you only really see light in the dark. Like stars.”

Elsa had never really thought about it that way. She carefully approached, and she looked around her. The grove was wide, and there was an odd magic to it. Honeymaren grinned. “It’s nice, isn’t it? I like showing you your own backyard.”

A light smile fell over Elsa’s lips. “It is nice, in a way. Like a place a wizard would live.” 

Elsa turned around, her hands grazing the bark of the now familiar trees. Her hand landed on soft moss, and she imagined it was the fur of some strange beast. “And all the good stuff happens in the scary, spooky places.” Honeymaren’s voice dropped as it drew closer. “Like monsters hiding in the….yah!” Honeymaren grabbed her.

Elsa shrieked and shoved Honeymaren the ground. 

“Don’t _touch me_!” she screamed, dizzied by the unfamiliar shadows and an all too familiar rising anger. Her breaths were quick and shallow and her hands formed into fists. No, not now…

Honeymaren was on the ground, her hand raised to her face. Then she lowered it, and her eyes were deep and dark, and almost sad. “Hey,” she said. “It’s ok.”

It wasn’t true, it wasn’t ok. But as she watched Honeymaren looking calmly at her, the seething passed through her like a current, and seemed to drain out of her body to the ground. Then she dropped, weary, to her knees. Honeymaren’s eyes fixed steadily on her the whole time. 

“I’m- I’m-” Why was it so hard to get the words out? She was supposed to be polite, but she couldn’t even form the simplest phrase. 

Honeymaren reached toward her, but seeming to think better of it, pulled them away. _I’m a freak. She’ll never want to touch me now._ Elsa thought of how warm her hand had been in the field, but now she would never want to shake hands again. She bowed her head.

“You’re sorry.” It wasn’t a question, or a demand. Honeymaren just knew. Elsa nodded miserably and blinked back tears. “It sometimes happen and I fight it but-” No! She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone _any_ of this! “I don’t want-“

“Can I hug you?” interrupted Honeymaren. Elsa looked up at her, trembling. She didn’t like to be touched, everyone knew that. It was almost a family law. But every part of her was begging to be comforted. She nodded.

The girls arms wove around her neck so their cheeks were touching. Tears streamed down Elsa’s face. “This isn’t fair. You’re making me feel better, but I hurt you.” 

“I’m okay. and I think you hurt _you_ too.” Honeymaren paused. “But if it makes you feel better, you can hug me too.” And Elsa wrapped her arms around the girl’s back. 

Honeymaren nestled into her hair. “You smell like Christmas!” she said. 

Elsa giggled through her tears. “It’s just the trees around us.” They didn’t look like Christmas trees with their gnarled shape, but they were pine, with the same scent. 

Honeymaren was now touching her hair, gently. “No! You smell like…a candy cane! You smell cold, but pretty.” Elsa bit her lip. She had overheard them whispering, calling her a ‘cold child,’ but she didn’t mind smelling like candy. She nuzzled Honeymaren’s hair. It wasn’t wispy and silky like her hair or Anna’s, but thick, dark and dense, and so, so warm. 

“If I’m peppermint,” she said carefully. “You are kind of like chocolate- no, not chocolate, but close.”

Honeymaren laughed. She pulled away and Elsa felt slightly sad, but she rested her hand on Elsa’s. “I think you mean it smells like _coffee_. I had it this morning.”

Elsa had never heard anything so grown up in her life. “They let you have coffee!” She covered her mouth.

“Well, just a taste, with sugar and milk. All the grownups get as much as they like, and next year I can have half a cup. My whole house smells like coffee.”

Elsa had tried coffee once, and her father had laughed as she gagged on the bitter taste. “You need to be older, dear.” But no need to tell Honeymaren this. “In my house we mainly drink tea,” she said.

“Of course you do. Out of little tea cups?” Honeymaren lifted an imaginary cup to her lips, her pinky out. 

They did. She wasn’t allowed to touch the Tulip tea set, no matter how much she begged, but she and Anna had their own set, adorned with wildflowers and rabbits. But somehow Honeymaren found this funny. “What else would I use to drink tea?” she said irritably. “Don’t make fun of me.” 

Honeymaren studied her, eyes flickering in the shade. “Will you yell at me again?” she said, too calmly. 

Elsa’s cheeks flamed, and she was momentarily stunned. This girl, this stranger knew too much. Maybe she would tell people. She parents would never ever forgive her.

Honeymaren stood up and pulled aside the branches.“Your house is so far away. I don’t think they’d hear us.”

“Hear us?” asked Elsa carefully.

“If we yelled,” said Honeymaren. “Sometimes I just go out in the woods and howl. Ryder is louder though. I don’t know where he got his lungs.” 

Yell? On purpose? She had been so trained to control herself that every episode of giving in to anger was a dark, shameful failure. Her fear must have been visible on her face, because Honeymaren knelt down beside her. “It’s okay,” she said, taking Elsa’s hands in hers. “They’ll never hear us.” 

Elsa looked up at her, pleading. There was some part of her that wanted to, but it was as though she was locked out. “I- I can’t.” 

Honeymaren smiled. “Maybe you can’t- yet. I’m going to clear the air for you.” She stood tall, and took a deep breath. She burst into a sound that oscillated between a yell and a scream. Elsa’s awe mixed with her panic. Honeymaren looked strong and wild, and Elsa didn’t know how she could even make a sound like that. Honeymaren stopped, huffing for air, smiling proudly at Elsa. 

“Cool, huh?” and Elsa couldn’t help but nod. “It’s loud enough to hide you, if you want to yell- just a little.” Elsa looked at her doubtfully. 

“You can yell at me,” said Honeymaren. “You’ve wanted to since we met.”

“Have not!” said Elsa. “I _like_ you!”

Honeymaren’s eyebrows shot up and her color heightened before she broke into her customary grin. “Your highness!” she said, lifting up an imaginary skirt in a fake curtsy. 

“You little-Fine!” said Elsa, feeling her annoyance and confidence rise. “I WILL yell at you.” 

“That’s all I ever wished for. Ready?” Elsa nodded, suddenly shy. Honeymaren grabbed her hand in a rapid gesture and Elsa couldn’t hold back a smile. 

Both of them took a deep breath. Elsa let Honeymaren go first, and the sheer volume of her wail made it easy for Elsa to follow. She gave a short cry at first, more a yelp. Feeling secure, she screamed and felt the raw energy depart from her body, for the first time without frustration or anger. Something deep set was released and she felt lightheaded. The two girls stopped and smiled at each other. Elsa felt her body growing weak. 

“Steady there,” said Honeymaren, catching her in her arms as she stumbled. “You okay?”

Elsa nodded briskly, realizing that her head was on the other girl’s shoulder. “Yes,” she said, catching her breath. “I just want to say-“

“Yeah?” asked Honeymaren softly.

“Thank you very much.” 

“So polite,” said Honeymaren. Elsa could feel the girl’s hand gently running over her head.

“Um- thanks, then. I didn’t know that would help. It was scary but I finally felt-” she pursed her lips. “I don’t know how to say it. Like when you’re locked in a room and they finally let you out. Like when lessons are over. Like when you’re- free.”

“I like you too, Elsa.”

“Huh?” asked Elsa, starting upright, and she turned away, blushing. “Oh right. That.” She peered down, to where Honeymaren’s orange journal was nestled in the pine needles.  
“What’s in there?” she asked. 

“Super secret stuff,” said Honeymaren, picking it up and dusting it off. “But maybe-just maybe- I’ll show you.” 

“Miss Elsa! _Miss Elsa_!” The two girls stared at each other as a cry echoed in the distance. Elsa peeked out of the grove, and a hulking figure rushed toward her, panting. It was Mr. Heigen, their gardner. 

“I’m fine.” She said, realizing her voice sounded hoarse from shouting. 

He looked at her doubtfully. “You were screaming, Miss Elsa.” He checked her over, and his eyes darted to the side.

“You!” he said to Honeymaren.

“Hi, Uncle Heigen,” she said, with a small wave. 

He grabbed her by the cuff of the shirt, and she yelped. “What are you doing here, Maren?” 

“Stop!” cried Elsa, surprising herself by grabbing at his arm. “We were only playing.” 

His eyes narrowed at his niece, and he slowly released her. “Maren here has a habit of getting into places she doesn’t belong.” 

“She’s my guest,” said Elsa. “Only…don’t tell Mama and Papa?” 

Mr. Heigen scowled at his niece. “Some guest, then.” He sighed, shaking his head. “No good will come of telling them. I can’t have them think I’m letting my family stroll the grounds.”

“You didn’t let me do anything,”said Honeymaren with a toss of her head. “And I like it here. I would come whether you worked here or not.” 

“Right, Maren. Let’s see what your Auntie has to say about this.” He grabbed her arm, and Elsa noticed the girl’s panic as he snatched the journal from her hands. 

“That’s mine!” said Elsa on impulse, glancing meaningfully at Honeymaren, who nodded. “Give it back. Please.” 

“Fine.” he handed Elsa the journal and looked her over. “You sure you’re alright? Can you make it back to the house?”

“Of course,” she said, screwing up her mouth like it was the most ridiculous question she had ever heard. Mr. Heigen had always been kind to her, even played with her a little, and she didn’t understand his roughness. 

“I won’t tell your Mama and Papa, this time. She’s my niece, and I love her, but she’s a wild one. Not the kind of girl you should be playing with, Miss Elsa.” Honeymaren stared daggers at him as he yanked her away.

“Goodbye!” said Elsa, and Honeymaren bowed slightly, an impish smile telling her it wasn’t over. 

When she was gone, Elsa clutched the journal close to her chest. The yard felt very empty. Not the _kind of girl_ she should be playing with? It hadn’t occurred to Elsa that there were kinds of girls, though her parents talked vaguely of good girls and bad girls. Honeymaren wasn’t bad, though she did things Elsa wouldn’t dare. 

She had a sense her parents would be angry, that they were angry. They always seemed to be there with her, their admonishments to behave herself, to control herself ringing in her ears. But for that short time with Honeymaren, it was as though it was just the two of them. She felt stronger, braver, and oddly more in control. 

Elsa knelt down and stroked the stroked the cover of the journal. Was this really it? It couldn’t be. _It wouldn’t be_. A rising conviction in her chest told her Honeymaren would return, and if she didn’t, Elsa was going to find her.


	4. Honeymaren

Honeymaren slumped into the car seat, her arms crossed.

“C’mon, kiddo,” said Heigen, patting her shoulder. “Lighten up.”

“I can go back later, right?” asked Honeymaren, though her mind was already in action, thinking of daring ways to get back over the gates.

Heigen only grunted as he started the car. “Guess not then,” said Honeymaren. “Hey, are you going back to the farm?”

Heigen sighed. “No we’re going to your Auntie’s.”

“I mean after. Uncle Heigen, take me back to the farm. Please? I hate Arendelle.” Things had been perfect, until three months ago. Her chest ached for the large farm where they had cows and sheep and even a few reindeer. There were plenty of children to play with, and the adults were all her aunties and uncles. She didn’t remember her parents, but Ryder and Honeymaren had never felt like orphans. Nobody called her rough or naughty, but told her she was good with the animals. And she was never, ever bored, or worse, lonely.

“And Auntie Yelana? And Ryder? Won’t you miss them?” Heigen’s pleading tone irritated her.

“They can come too,” she said stubbornly, knowing exactly what was coming.

“You know they can’t. The farm doesn’t make money like it used to, and some of us have to work in town to support it. I’d rather be with the herd than gardening.”

“But you’re a great gardner,” insisted Honeymaren, thinking of the herbs, vegetables and bright blooms that sprouted like magic back home. For a man with such massive hands, Heigen could plant and transplant the most delicate seedlings. Every morning, from spring until autumn, she and Ryder would sneak down to see if anything new had grown overnight.

“Yes, but it’s different working on your own land, not some rich man’s.” He shook his head. “But it’s not about me. We need money for feed, for tools, for supplies, and that means putting aside our own wants for the greater good.”

Honeymaren did understand it, deep down, but she resented it. “But why Auntie Yelana?” Her aunt, her true aunt, had been a mother to her and Ryder since they were small, and she understood that meant they went where she did, even if the other grown ups had helped to raise her. Yelana had gone away for periods of time throughout her childhood to make money, but she had always come back to hold them, cook for them, and sing to them. 

“Your aunt is a trained nurse, and can make good money in town. The others were brought up to farm, and can’t do much but odd jobs out here. You're auntie is a bright one, too,” he added, with some pride. “Always top of her class in math and science, with a mind like a trap.” 

Honeymaren crossed her arms. “Then it’s very good,” she said, kicking at the glovebox. “That I’m terrible at math, at school, at all of it. That means I can go home when I grow up and stay on the farm forever.” 

They were at their destination, but the wheels screeched as they slipped into the parking spot. Heigen’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “You may joke about that,” he said, staring ahead in a way that made Maren swallow hard. “But don’t you dare say anything to your aunt. She works night and day and wants good things for you. For all three of you. Get it?” 

Honeymaren flushed to her ears and could only nod. There was too much to process, and it seemed she was trapped whichever path she chose. 

The inviting smell of frying onions greeted them on their arrival to the apartment. “What’s for dinner, Auntie?” shouted Honeymaren, trying to ignore her uncle’s dark mood hanging like a cloud over both of them. 

“Nothing if you don’t help me, child. Chop up some carrots, would you?” Honeymaren beamed in spite of herself. The girls at school thought she was too rough, and the boys ignored her, but she knew their parents didn’t let them to handle real knives. Even their scissors were dull little things. The Northuldra gave their children responsibilities early, and trusted them. 

Yelana wiped her apron as she met them in the kitchen. She wore her grey hair in a long plait. She had been years older than Maren’s mother. A life of hard work had brought deep crinkles to her eyes and mouth, but her movements and expressions were youthful. 

“Oh dear,” she said, her eyes darting from Heigen to Maren. “What has she done this time?”

“Where is the knife, Auntie?” asked Maren, eager to change the subject.

“Hush, child,” said Yelena and Honeymaren held herself, pained by the accusation on her face. It had never been like this before. She had been a good child, a natural herder who groomed and fed the livestock and looked after her little brother. It was only since they moved to town that Yelana had begun to give her that look. 

_For ignoring the teacher_ ….who ignored her most of the time. _Fist fights_ …against that nasty older boy who made fun of her tribe. _Sneaking into the abandoned bank_ …it was abandoned wasn’t it? No harm done. 

“I found her at the Arend estate. Getting into trouble with one of the daughters.”

“Getting into trouble? We were only playing!” cried Honeymaren. 

Yelana’s face. “Anna- but she’s gone- it had to be-“

“The older one,” said Heigen. “The -the sensitive one.”

“Oh, Honey. Do you know what you could have done?” asked Yelana, placing her hand on her forehead.

“She was _nice_ , auntie,” pleaded Maren, utterly baffled. What could be wrong with playing with another kid? “We just had fun like…like Ryder and I do.” 

“And I suppose sneaking over their walls- that’s just ‘having fun’ too?” asked Heigen.

“If they want to keep me out, they should build bigger walls.” Honeymaren crossed her arms, and noticed Yelana suppress a smile before switching to a stern expression. 

“Sit down, child,” she said. “Heigen, we have to talk to her- about the Arends.”

He shrugged, and slumped his heavy form into an arm chair, his shaggy brown hair falling over his face. “Why not? Not like they’re my employers or anything.”

She gave him a little shove, and sat down on the couch, motioning Honeymaren next to her. “They’re not just your employers. They employ the whole town in one way or another and we have to live with them.” 

Honeymaren jumped over the back the sofa in the way her aunt hated, but Yelena merely touched her shoulder. She heard the name ‘Arend’ all the time, and had peeked around the corners of their massive estate, but it had not occurred to her how important they were. She wondered if she would have treated Elsa differently had she known. She remembered Elsa when she first met her, her ripped tights, her halo of white blonde hair, and pale tear-stained face, and knew she wouldn’t have. 

“Mrs. Arend is one of us, though, isn’t she?” asked Honeymaren. 

“She’s Northuldra, yes,” said Yelana. “Her family is one of our oldest and one of the only ones to get rich. Iduna was a nice girl, but she was different. It wasn’t her fault, really. Her parents wanted ‘better things’ for her. She was sent to private school and she and her parents only visited our farms for show. And when she caught the eye of the heir to the estate, it suited the older Mr. Arend well.” Her face looked serious and sad. 

“What is it Auntie? What’s wrong with them getting married if they wanted to?”

“It isn’t that child. It’s why Mr. Arend wanted the marriage. You see, the Arends were in the timber business. We had some fights with them over the years, but there wasn’t real trouble until they decided to build the dam.”

Honeymaren had heard of the dam, and heard the elders cursing over it. “That was bad, right?”

“Very bad. They wanted a new source of money and decided to dam up the Highbough river to launch an energy company. The old treaties said that land was ours, but old Runeard Arend had slick lawyers and the money to plough through our rights. The dam created Highbough lake, which flooded a couple thousand acres of our grazing land.”

Honeymaren thought with some guilt of the afternoons she and Ryder spent swimming in Highbough lake, and made a mental promise to never do so again that she would definitely keep. Even if it were hot, and the lake was temptingly close…and she missed home terribly once again.

“But he wasn’t a popular man,” continued Yelena. “And the local papers ran with the story even when he tried to pay them off. So when his son fell in love with a Northuldra girl, a rich, socially acceptable one, he was glad to make everything about the wedding. He spun it like we had some kind of alliance, a truce that made everything okay again, but nothing could be less true.”

Maren struggled to keep up. It seemed vague and romantic and horrible at the same time, and she was aware certain parts went over her head. “So the Arends….they’re our enemies?” Somehow it made friendship with Elsa more interesting than otherwise. 

“It’s not that simple,” said Yelena. “We’re angry, yes, and we want them to pay us back because they’ve damaged us and made it harder to keep our way of life. But they’re a strange family, and a secretive one. Runeard has been sickly for years and is rarely seen, but he’s still calling the shots. They say the son Agnarr helps with the business, but is only interested in music and his family, and Iduna…,” Yelana trailed off sadly. “We don’t see much of her anymore.”

“And Elsa?” asked Honeymaren.

Heigen and Yelena exchanged a glance. 

“I can’t be her friend because of her grandpa?” Maren said heatedly. “That’s not fair!”

“Just tell her,” said Heigen with a sigh. “She knows too much already.”

Yelena put her arm around Honeymaren. “Elsa is a very sensitive girl. She has certain- issues. A temper. If anything happened, if you ever hurt her, it may come back to haunt all of us.”

“I would never hurt her!” Maren struggled from her aunt’s grasp. “That makes no sense!”

“Not on purpose, Honey. But if you were playing, and you upset her she might- get angry, too angry. And I know you’re not the type to just accept that.”

Honeymaren thought about when Elsa knocked her down. Her aunt was right, she was not the type to just accept it. But she had. There was something about the girl that seemed so sorrowful, so fragile, even in her anger, that Maren’s first instinct was to calm her, and when she fell to hold her. She could not understand their meaning, but she knew Elsa was hurting, that this ‘too angry’ that something that she fought desperately. It seemed to Maren more some external, hulking beast than part of who she was. But she couldn’t think of the right words to defend her, and flushing, she only stumbled on her words. 

“But…even if she did get angry at me, I would let her. She’s my friend, and I don’t care…” Her eyes brimmed over with tears.

Yelena embraced her. “Honey, you have a good heart. But it’s our job have to protect our family, and most of all protect you, our children. You’ll make plenty of friends.” 

That seemed a long, lonely road to Maren. But more it seemed they wanted to keep her from Elsa for her own good. She wanted to be loyal to her tribe and her family, but it felt wrong. Elsa was prouder than the girls at school, more careful and polite, but rather than rejecting Honeymaren, she had hugged her, joined in with her games, and even protected her journal. _The journal!_ She had forgotten it. She hoped it would bring Elsa to her, or at least give her an excuse to go see her. She wasn’t afraid of the Arends and their fancy house and servants- well, except her uncle, and she knew when he was gone. No need to slink around. Honeymaren would march up to the door like she owned the place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated whether or not to have a Honeymaren perspective chapter, but decided it would be the best way to not only show facts about Honeymaren's life, but Elsa's as well. Elsa knows very little about her situation and the world she lives in, but it's a small one with a lot of gossip.   
> The Northuldra in my story are an indigenous ethnic group like the Sami, Native Americans in the US, or First Nations in Canada. They live on what would essentially be a reservation but as they are not exactly Native Americans, I didn't think it was right to use that word. Much like Native Americans, they try to preserve their way of live, but some people choose to leave either to support the people back home, or through personal choice.


End file.
